


i do, i do, i do.

by watergenasi



Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Favour of the Scribes
Genre: F/M, i love them so fuUFJVHFIDJIGJIJ MUCHHGUHURH, this is gonna b multichapter mwaahah
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:02:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27518086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watergenasi/pseuds/watergenasi
Summary: Lillian O’Calleigh married Pluto Winslow for a number of reasons. The first being that she loved him more than life. The second being that he loved her more than death.The third being that everyone on Bracehill told her not to.
Relationships: Pluto / Lillian
Kudos: 3





	i do, i do, i do.

Lillian O’Calleigh is twelve years old when she breaks her wrist for the fifth time. 

“Lillian, Gods above, quit screaming!” Orla, goliath, Lillian’s best friend and sparring partner hisses. “You’ll wake a fucking _Míol Mór_!”

Let’em hear her, then. A Míol Mór isn’t a twelve year old girl who just broke her wrist for the fifth time and is currently learning that pain doesn’t get easier the more times you face it. It just bloody well _hurts_. Let the damn whale mutation come to the shores. It doesn’t have a wrist but Lillian will find something on it to break to let it see just how damn much a broken bone hurts and that she's completely justified in screaming her lungs out. 

Lillian takes a deep breath and holds it for a grand total of two seconds before the pain overwhelms her and she unleashes another scream that echoes across the beach.

“Lil--Lil--Okay. Lillian. _Lillian!”_ Orla kneels down, attempting a different approach. “Com’on. I’ll take you to the clerics. Before you rupture your voice box.”

“No!” Lillian wails, “Don’t lay a HAND on me! You’ll break my other fucking wrist!”

“It was an accident!”

“Bullshit! You’re supposed t’ah perry my attacks not _bludgeon_ them with your BIG UGLY --”  
  
“Don’t--”

“GOLIATH HAANDS!”

Orla winds back her fist to punch the daylights out of Lillian, no doubt to knock her out so she can carry her to the clerics without further problem, but stops and looks above Lillian’s head, leaving her fist suspended in air. A warning. 

“What are you doing here.” Orla states, her voice low and expression firm. Lillian snaps her head around, wrist nearly all but forgotten.

Pluto Winslow. The water genasi kid that died a few weeks back, along with that gnome he always used to hang out with. They don’t talk anymore. Pluto rarely talks to anyone anymore.

“I, um,” he swallows, “I … ”

“Spit it out.”

He stands there, hands shaking. Lillain raises his eyebrows at him. His face turns a pale shade of periwinkle. 

Pluto points at Lillian. “You! You were screaming! You’re hurt!”

The pain in her wrist comes flooding back as she remembers. She looks down at her wrist, bent in every way a wrist should not be bent in. 

Well, following the Winslow way of life, he _is_ a Cleric. 

“She’s _fine,_ ” Orla snaps. 

“No, ya broke my wrist,” Lillian snaps right back.

And Orla _is_ being a pain in her ass.

“You don’t want help from _him._ ”

Now, Orla and Lillian have been best friends for years now. They made friendship bracelets from woven sea grass and whale bones and everything. Orla should know by now _never_ to tell Lillian O’Calleigh what she does and does not want.

Lillian scowls at her dear friend, the ugliest, hate-filled frown a twelve year old girl can muster, and barks, “HA! Look at you! First ya break my wrist, then ya baby me! I can choose who I want t’ah heal me, and I DO want help from the Winslow!”

Orla’s face drops to one of deep, deep irritation.

Lillian turns back to Pluto, who is starting to look like he had perhaps made a grave mistake in offering his assistance, and extends her mangled wrist. 

“I _am_ hurt, Winslow. Can you _please_ heal me?”

Pluto looks stunned. He probably wasn’t expecting her to ask that. Lillian extends her wrist out further. _“Pleeeeeeease?”_

He shakes his head a bit, snapping himself out of the stunned silences he was trapped in, and nods. Pluto slowly kneels down in front of her and extends both of his own hands. He holds his right hand over hers, and gently cradles her wrist in his left palm.

Lillian looks up at him. She’s too young, too rambunctious, and too in pain to realize exactly why exactly her chest feels as if it’s glowing brightly and warmly, why seeing Pluto's cheeks shift to a mauve delights her so, and why she never wants Pluto to let go of her hand. 

He closes his eyes and takes a deep, steadying breath, and Lillian watches him closely. Pluto’s still trembling hands begin to glow, a soft and radiant silver, and Lillian’s pain eases some. 

She watches the magic seep into her wrist and painlessly mend her broken bones back together, until it is if Orla never broke it in the first place. 

Pluto opens his eyes. Lillian stares right back into his bright yellow irises and grins at the twisty feeling in her stomach and fullness in her chest. 

“I really hope,” Pluto whispers, staring right back into her bright emerald eyes, “that worked.”

Lillian twirls her wrist, and aside from a few cracks and pinches, it’s perfect.

“It’s perfect,” she beams.

Pluto flushes a deeper mauve. Lillian giggles beside herself. She wonders what else she can say to get him to keep blushing.

“Good,” he mumbles. He doesn’t look away. Lillian doesn’t want him to. Lillian wants him to keep holding her hand and looking at her for as long as he possibly can.

Orla crosses her arms. “Alright. You healed her. Téigh amach. Get out.”

Pluto snatches his hand away from hers like he was suddenly holding onto hot embers. He stammers something of a goodbye before turning around and walking back up the dunes. 

“Fucking weirdo. At least you’re fixed. ‘N my dad won’t ground me for breaking your hand again.”

Lillian stares at her hand and imagines Pluto’s fingers wrapped around her palm once more, just to feel it in her gut again. She twirls her wrist and imagines gazing into his eyes and giggles at the fizzlers in her chest. 

“Thank you Winslow!” she calls out, even louder than her screams of agony. “Heal me again sometime, okay?!”

A small “okay!” from past the dunes, voice cracking.

Lillian squeals and flops down in the sand. 

“Oh no,” Orla says, “oh no. No no no. Not _him._ Lillian, gods below, _anyone_ but him!”

Lillian shriek-laughs. “Did’ya see the way he _looked_ at me!?”

“This isn’t happening.”

“Nobody has ever held me hand that gently before!”

“No. I’m not listening to you.”

“ORLA! Quick! Break me leg so he can come back!”

“Absolutely not. I’m not encouraging this.” 

“You’re the worst friend in ALL of Maes!” Lillian grabs a handful of sand and throws it at her. “Just you wait! I’m gonna MARRY HIM one day!”

Orla’s face turns from irritation to deadly seriousness. “Lillian do _not_ even joke about that.”

“Why not!?”

“What do’ya mean why—” Orla kicks the ground and Lillian sputters as sand covers her head to toe. 

“What’d you do that for!?”  
  
“He’s a _Winslow_ , ya fucking dúr! Ya can’t marry a bloody _Winslow!”_

Lillian stands. She brushes the sand off of her. She looks up at Orla.

“Maybe I will. And then he can heal my broken wrists forever and ever and you’ll _have_ to be happy for me because you’re my _best friend._ ”

“Best friends don’t let other best friends do stupid shit. Like marry a Winslow.”

Lillian rolls her eyes. Orla extends her hand.

“Besides. My mom said we can only get married when we’re older. Like, twenty ‘r something. You’ll probably have a million other crushes by then.”

The same twisty feeling jerks in her gut, but not in the fun, feel-good way it had felt when Pluto was looking at her. It twists angrily, hurt at the idea of growing up without him.

Lillian sighs, because she’s tired of fighting her best friend and just wants to go home and wash the sand out from everywhere.

Now, Lillian loves Pluto. She is too young to fully understand the implications of those twists in her stomach but she’s on the way (stating that she was going to marry him, for example; she’s almost got it.) According to fate, she was destined to love him from this moment onwards.

Marrying him, however, was still up in the air. She had a duty, after all, to the people of Bracehill. It would have behooved the eldest O’Calleigh to marry someone strong, someone large, someone that would ensure offspring more than capable of protecting Bracehill when she was gone. 

Lillian O’Calleigh married Pluto Winslow for a number of reasons. The first being that she loved him more than life. The second being that he loved her more than death.

The third being that everyone on Bracehill told her not to.

**Author's Note:**

> i was gonna do a remix like drop down flip it and reverse it by having orla say "name one winslow wife who lived. you can't." and lillian being like "im going to be the first." but then i'd be so on my bullshit i'd be incapable of rational thought for the next three weeks


End file.
